Vayra and Glade met back in their apartment at noon, and they both shared how their discussions with their respective gods played out. Vayra kept her summary brief, but there was plenty of material on both sides to cover.
When they finished, they both sat in silence for a few minutes. Phasoné appeared behind Vayra, a plain white wireframe, and leaned on the couch.
“Chances are,” Glade said, “we will be dealing with Admirals in the next rounds. We need to advance to Admiral soon, too, if we are going to catch up and maintain our standing.”
“What will the advancement actually get us?” Vayra asked.
“Stronger and purer Arcara, for one,” said Phasoné. “Your techniques will be outright better in every way.”
“Anything else?” Vayra asked.
“You’ll be preparing your body for the Grand Admiral reforging—the last reforge you’ll get before ascending to godhood,” Phasoné said. “That will take a little effort, though it won’t be insurmountable with your Arcara control and internal Warding technique. But the process of feeding Arcara outward will inherently strengthen your skin and make it a little more durable.” Phasoné put a hand of Vayra’s shoulder. “I’m not sure how it will interact with the Steevein body.”
“We’ll find out.” She wouldn’t have minded some more durability, but if it compounded on her base reforged body, she wouldn’t be getting any of that.
But that meant she’d be pushing for more speed. Or greater durability of her Arcara channels, or better healing. All worthwhile trade-offs.
“We will not advance to Admiral just by sitting here,” Glade said. “We will need to seek out how we see our future selves, and we will need more Arcara. Staying on the Shattered Moon these next few days will not be ideal.”
“I’ll send for the Harmony,” she said. “Getting enough Arcara to make the leap, though? That’s another question.”
“What you need for Admiral isn’t more Arcara,” Phasoné said. “It comes down to the quality of it. Bask in Stream water, use the Burnished Flame Loop, and concentrate your willpower. You will push yourself there in time, though the revelation will be important.”
“You say that like I’ll need something else.”
“Most God-heirs advance to Admiral in the presence of a strong source of their authority,” Phasoné said. “I travelled to a nebula and basked in the light of newborn stars, and it took me months of nonstop cycling—and I had a pattern equivalent to the Burnished Flame Loop, if not stronger.”
“Could you teach me?”
“It was designed specifically for wind-based Paths, and for the descendants of Brannûl. It wouldn’t work for anyone else.”
“Then we’ll need a stronger source of our realms of control.” Vayra stroked her chin. “Glade, where are you going?”
“I will travel to Swordhaven.” Glade rested a hand on the pommel of his sword. “Elder Eman-Fa travelled there, seeking insight during his advancement from Quartermaster to Master’s Mate. I hope I might achieve the same on a world of natural steel and blades. It is my best bet.”
Vayra nodded. Everyone else knew what they were doing except her, and she didn’t have the time to solve it. “Is…there any better nebula than the one you used, Phas? Whichever one it was?”
“The Terlsen Nebula. And no, as far as I know, there is no other nebula with such concentrated energy.”
“But…what could be better than a nebula? We don’t have that kind of time.”
“There is nothing better,” Phasoné said dejectedly.
“Wait.” Glade pushed up from his chair. “The light around Yorth’s Remorse. The singularity. What was it?”
“...Light?” Vayra shrugged. “I dunno, it was blue-white.”
“Exactly like your starlight abilities.”
“A singularity is a hole in space, an incredible weight that draws all toward it,” Phasoné said. “It’s not a star.”
“It draws everything in…” Vayra breathed. “Even light, apparently.”
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“And that light comes from stars,” said Glade. “Thousands of them, all burning in the distance, feeding their light into the singularity’s accretion disk.”
“Then there’s our concentrated starlight. I need to find a singularity.”
“We have time,” Phasoné said. “We could return to Yorth’s Remorse.”
“I’ll send a note out,” Vayra said. “We’ll call the Harmony back. We…can drop Glade off on this Swordhaven world, right, along the way? Then we’ll head to Yorth’s Remorse ourself and draw on the concentrated starlight.”
Like her core had been. Dark, with light. The night sky and the stars, not just stars.
A black hole was perfect.
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The Harmony arrived at Swordhaven after nearly three days of sailing. The planet emerged on the brink of the stream like a silver sun rising over a horizon. Everything about it shone enamel-white, like she was staring at an enormous warped mirror of a planet. Cracks ran along its shining surface, and patches of mottled gray interrupted it, but the majority of the planet was iron, coal, and natural steel. The winds whipped across its surface so fast that they polished it smooth.
Glade stood at the Harmony’s bow as they descended toward the planet’s meagre equatorial oceans. The planet’s surface being as reflective as it was, it absorbed less heat from its star, and a quarter of the planet on each side had a layer of snow and ice over it—much larger than normal poles.
The Harmony descended to an ocean of middling warmth, like an autumn morning, but the winds made it feel much cooler, and tiny snowflakes whipped past in the breeze. Each impact stung Glade’s skin.
They sloshed toward the shore, masts groaning in the high winds and sails rippling, but they arrived at a small village in an inlet. It wasn’t the largest shoreline village—there were plenty of mining operations here to fuel the Elderworld war machine, and they needed ports to export their goods—but it was large enough to host the Harmony. They bobbed up to a pier, and Glade jumped over the Harmony’s railing to the windswept boards below.
“We will return for you in precisely two weeks,” said Captain Pels. “Be safe, boy. I hope to see an Admiral when I come back.”
“Understood, Captain.” Glade dipped his head toward Pels. He held a hand atop his head to keep his hat from blowing away. It covered his hair, making him less obviously an Order disciple. The Swordwyrm remained in his corespace, so as to draw less attention. “Do not let Vayra throw herself into a singularity.”
“We won’t!”
As soon as Glade departed down the pier, the Harmony pulled away and navigated back to the Stream.
Glade stepped off the pier onto the wharf, then pulled up the collar of his coat. A tiny village like this nestled into a cove of rock, but even then, it wasn’t enough to stop the winds from entering, and it made them howl even louder as they raced around the metallic lips of the shelter.
The village itself was a heap of pale wood and thin, steel-plate shingles. Lanky aspens tucked into the cracks, and pale green weeds grew in the corners, which no one took care to trim or maintain. Civilians milled about, wearing tight clothes that wouldn’t blow around in the wind and keeping their hats to their heads with chin-straps. Wagons were low to the ground, so they wouldn’t blow over, and enormous raccoon-cats pulled them.
He wove down the street, keeping a hand on top of his head to hold down his tricorn, and approached a small pub at the end of the street. A platoon of bluecoats marched the opposite direction—Karmion’s forces had conquered Swordhaven a few years ago, and their presence in the cities was strict.
Glade pushed the pub’s door open with effort, then held it so the wind didn’t slam it behind him. He’d never been to this village before, and when he’d come here with Elder Eman-Fa, he’d just followed the older man.
Glade waded through the swirling smoke and crowded tables, approaching the counter where a human innkeeper stood. The man was wiping out tin mugs with a cloth and washing steel plates in a bucket of frigid water.
“How can I help you, son?” the innkeeper asked.
Glade kept his voice low, just in case any of the other patrons of the tavern overheard. “I need directions to the Frostblade shrine, then I will be out of your hair. I am willing to pay, though I can only offer Velaydi—.”
“No need, son,” the innkeeper whispered. “I wouldn’t trade in that silver even if I was hundreds of quivres in debt. The bluecoats find any of it, they’ll sooner hang me than ask where I got it.”
“Apologies,” Glade said. Already, a few gazes turned toward him. Sailors, workers, miners, and more.
“The coats find Velaydians coming through this pub, they’ll shut us down,” the innkeeper said. “No one wants their drinking hole gone.”
“I will leave, then—”
“Wait just a moment,” said the innkeeper. “Can’t hurt to give directions.” He set down a mug on the counter—a hammered steel countertop—with a clink, then tapped a notch on it with his finger. “Say you’re here.” He dragged his finger toward himself. “You’re gonna head inland for a day, and keep an eye out for the Copperpeak. Only copper mountain in sight. Sharp summit and all. Then, I need you to skirt its base until you reach a creek in a deep ravine. Follow the creek northeast, and you’ll reach your shrine.”
“Thank you.” Glade bowed his head in gratitude, then took a step back from the counter.
“Word of warning, son,” said the innkeeper. “That shrine has been abandoned for years. Its caretakers left soon after the occupation began. You’ll find nothing but silverwolves and ruins there, now. Maybe a few travellers sheltering along the way, and a glaive-monk or two. Watch yourself, or you’ll be mince.”